permitted him to travel If he waits for that, thought I, he 'll not find
me here; and if it blows as hard for the next week, he 'll not find the
house either; so I mixed another tumbler of punch, and hummed myself to
sleep with the "Battle of Ross."

'It was about four or five evenings after I received this letter that
old Dan M'Cormick--a kind of butler I have, a handy fellow; he was a
steward for ten years in the Holyhead packet--burst into the room
about ten o'clock, when I was disputing with myself whether I took six
tumblers or seven--I said one, the decanter said the other.

'"It's blowing terrible, Mr. Bob," said Dan.

'"Let it blow! What else has it to do?"

'"The trees is tumbling about as if they was drunk; there won't be one
left before morn."

'"They're right," says I, "to leave that, for the soil was never kind
for planting."

'"Two of the chimneys is down," says he.

'"Devil mend them!" said I, "they were always smoking."

'"And the hall door," cried he, "is blown flat into the hall."

'"It's little I care," said I; "if it couldn't keep out the sheriff it
may let in the storm, if it pleases."

'"Murther! murther!" said he, wringing his hands, "I wish we were at
say! It's a cruel thing to have one's life perilled this way."

'While we were talking, a gossoon burst into the room with the news that
the Milford packet had just gone ashore somewhere below the Hook Tower,
adding, as is always the case on such occasions, that they were all
drowned.

'I jumped up at this, put on my shooting-shoes, buttoned up my frieze
coat, and followed by Dan, took a short cut over the hills towards
Passage, where I now found the packet had been driven in. Before we had
gone half a mile I heard the voices of some country-people coming up the
road towards me; but it was so dark you couldn't see your hand.

'"Who's there?" said I.

'"Tim Molloy, your honour," was the answer.

'"What's the matter, Tim?" said I. "Is there anything wrong?"

'"Nothing, sir, glory be to God--it's only the corpse of the gentleman
that was drowned there below."

'"I ain't dead, I tell you; I'm only faint," called out a shrill voice.

'"He says he's better," said Tim; "and maybe it's only the salt water
that's in him; and, faix, when we found him, there was no more spark in
him than in a wet sod."

'Well, the short of it was, we brought him up to the house, rubbed him
with gunpowder before the fire, gave him about half a pint of bu